Compliance
by JustJasper
Summary: Angst bingo 'getting physical'. Dub-con. Even more than what Gideon makes him do, Reid hates the smile that goes with it. Tag for 'Sex, Birth, Death'.


"**If your heart tends to force friends to do as you say,****seed of discord is being planted in your relationship." - Toba Beta**

He wants to apologize to Garcia, who he can see is having just as much trouble wiping the blood off her hands as he is. He wants to apologize because even though he knows it's pure coincidence she was there with him, it's Garcia, and there is something almost physically painful about watching her recoil from her own hands. Morgan's focus is completely on her, sensing that fragility, and Spencer is nothing but glad; but there is a tiny part of him that wishes his friend would look around, just look at him, just give him anything to use as a cue to walk away from where he is.

Instead Gideon puts a hand on the top of his back and leads him away from the crime scene. Reid wants to shrug out of the hold and dash off to Garcia and her car Esther and tell her they should go out, just so he doesn't have to keep walking with Gideon's hand spreading out between his shoulder blades.

But before he can act on it they're at the SUV, and it's an automatic response for Reid to climb in and put his seatbelt on. Gideon doesn't say anything, and Reid gives life to a futile hope that maybe he'd just going to take him home.

He doesn't.

Three blocks away from the crime scene, Gideon pulls the SUV off into an alley, out of sight of the road. The only light is from dials on the dashboard, throwing them into dramatic near-dark, and Reid hears rather than sees his mentor unzipping the front of his slacks. He doesn't even ask anymore, doesn't convince Reid into doing anything, knows he already has Reid conditioned into compliance.

Reid wonders briefly if Gideon would stop if he cried, or if he'd have reassurances to get his way ready to use.

He braces his hands on Gideon's clothed thighs and leaves bloody handprints as the man cradles the back of his head and guides him down into his lap. He knows it will be over quicker if he just complies, but he hates himself for it; he's a grown man, he should walk away. He should have said no the first time, but the occasional secret blow job had seemed such a little price for everything Gideon had given him.

It's not that bad really, oral sex in general, but Gideon seems to know what he'd doing isn't on the level and he rushes, bucking his hips up and making Reid wretch a little every so often. Pressing his hands down to keep the man still apparently communicates compliance and consent, rather than simply trying to make it easier. Gideon doesn't even seem to care that Spencer doesn't really try to stimulate him like he has done and would do with a partner he chose; he just closes his mouth around the man's cock, makes sure not to bite down and remembers to breath. The wet heat and the psychological significance of having him in that position seems to be enough for Gideon, who strokes through his hair and murmurs his name like a mantra.

The worst part is when Gideon ejaculates, because it's bitter and runny and sticky, and enough of it so that it runs over his chin. He spits discreetly into his hand as he sits up, opening his door long enough to let it drip off his fingers. On instinct he pushes the back of his hand against his chin to get rid of the last dribble, and remembers too late his hands are bloody. Now there's a smear of Nathan's blood over his chin and he has to resist letting the disgust play out on his face.

When he closes the door and turns back to put his seatbelt on again, Gideon has tucked himself away and is smiling with his hands on the steering wheel, waiting for Spencer to get buckled in before he drives away.

It's that smile, that one that's build in mind of blueprints promising warmth, that stays with Reid, because it's wrong, and it reaches him cold. Gideon's eyes shouldn't be warm and kind after what he's done, they should be ashamed and remorseful.

They never are.

"**So, in the interests of survival, they trained themselves to be agreeing machines instead of thinking machines. All their minds had to do was to discover what other people were thinking, and then they thought that, too." - Kurt Vonnegut**


End file.
